Impressions
by Cat 2
Summary: 5 people reflect on their first impressions of Captain America at his Funeral. currently 5, but may increase as story progresses. This is my First Captain America Fan Fic, so please R&R. This Chapter, a Nazi's Point of view!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Marvel Entertainment owns everything, with the exception of Cat who is my own creation and various others who I will identify as this progresses. This is a work of fanfic, no copyright infringement intended.

Author's note: As a Non US resident, I can only keep up with Cap's adventures in trade paper backs. Unfortunately the death of captain America is currently outside my price range, so if I make any mistakes sorry. this story, or to be more accurate parts of have been flitting around my head for a while now, so Enjoy.

Impressions

Prologue

"There are some moments in time which everyone knows where they were and what they were doing when they heard about it. The Outbreak of World War II, the assassination of President Kennedy, Live Aid, the Death of Princess Diana, September 11th and 7/7. To this list I would like to add another. The death of captain America."Argh! My frustration gets the better of me and I tear the page from my notebook and screw it into a ball.

There's less than an hour to go to the funeral and I still have no idea what I'm going to say.

What can I say? It's not like there's any set protocol for this. How do you morn a hero turned into a villain? The people's champion turned into public enemy number 1? What do you say?

Spitfire knocks tentatively on the door. I can't blame, I haven't exactly been sweetness and light since we arrived at the embassy.

She stands nervously in the door in her costume, with a black coat as protection against the rain. Union Jack stands beside her, also in costume.

"Ready?" she asks.

"No!" I snap, but relent at the look on her face. This is a tough day for everyone. "But I don't think I'm ever going to be. Not for this."

She nods and Union bends down to pick up one of the many balls of paper littering the floor.

"This your speech?" he asks, begin to uncrumple it. I snatch it off him.

"I'll finish it in the car."

_The Arlington National Cemetery._

"Mr. Ambassador!"

"Mr. Ambassador over here." The vultures are out in force despite the weather. They descend upon the car as soon as it arrives, recognizing the plates and flags flying from it.

The ambassador steps out, with Spitfire and Union Jack, under the cover of the umbrellas held by the FBI. The CIA is also out in force; recognize several old friends as I scan the crowd.

A part of me is amused that my mind is working like this, today of all days; but it's just like the first time. Training takes over.

Flashman and I exit from the other door, just as the ambassador turns.

"Today America morns a hero, and Britain morns a friend" he declares to the journalists. Perfect sound bite.

We thread our way though the crowds to Flashman seat, however when I make to sit down beside him, he shakes his head. I open my mouth to protest. While I may have said I would like to kill Tony Stark, there's no way I'd do that today. And Flashman knows it. Instead he nods to a seat underneath a huge oak tree. The wind shifts and I catch his scent. I understand.

"Just tell him no Trouble." Flashman says softly as I make my way over, all but running.

I don't know if he sees me, or if Fury or Flash let him know where I am. All I know is suddenly I can smell him, hear his heartbeat. I know all I have to do is turn my head to see him. But I can't.

"Message from Flash." I say, staring straight ahead. "No trouble!"

"Fury says the same." The pain in his voice is so obvious and so intense, that I want to take him in my arms and just hold him. To make it better or at least to let him know that I understand. But as it did 60 years ago duty separates us.

I scan the crowd automatically, looking for familiar faces. There's almost none of the old gang here. It's scary how few of us survived the war, but it's even scarier how few survived the peace.

Peter and Jakob spot me and head over. Both hug me, muttering phrases of comfort, much to the annoyance of their wives. To him they merely nod, not sure how to react. Returning from the dead confuses people. On the one hand, you're pleased to see them. On the other hand the pain of their death angers you.

Harry also arrives, his grandsons in tow. The youngest clutches a cap comic against his chest. I can't help but be glad. He belongs to the future as well as to the past.

The ceremony begins. First the basic details: Steve Rogers born 4th July 1917 to Irish immigrant parents in the lower east side of Manhattan; Then the early years, the art student and the depression; then finally the propaganda bull about his creation and Bucky's.

"How did it really happen?" I ask. "How did you become Bucky?"

"What makes you think I want to talk about it?" he asks.

I turn my head slightly so I see his profile against the dark sky. It makes my heart ache.

"You're here aren't you?"


	2. Chapter 2 Bucky

Disclaimer: Marvel Entertainment owns everything, with the exception of Cat who is my own creation and various others who I will identify as this progresses. This is a work of fanfic, no copyright infringement intended.

Author's note: As a Non US resident, I can only keep up with Cap's adventures in trade paper backs. Unfortunately the death of captain America is currently outside my price range, so if I make any mistakes sorry. this story, or to be more accurate parts of have been flitting around my head for a while now, so Enjoy.

Author Note 2. I suffer from dyslexia and lack a beta reader. So if my spelling/ grammar really offend anyone would they like to volunteer?

Author note 3: the dialog between Cap and Top Brass comes from Captain America 12# & 14#.

Bucky

_Fort Lehigh February 1941_

"Which one is he?"

The man known only as the general asks, surveying the fight.

The captain points.

"The small one."

The general tone gives the impression that if his face showed any emotion his eyebrow would be raised

"Three against one. Hardly ideal odds."

There's a note of frustration and pride in the captain voice as he replies

"He's faced worse."

_Bucky's POV._

"James Buchanan Barnes." The man's face is expressionless, his voice too. I should be scared, but I'm a tough kid, or at least think I am.

"Yes sir." The response is the correct soldier response. The military's the only life I've ever known or wanted.

"Known to the men as" the voice acquires a mocking tone. I'm not sure what this guy's rank is, but it's higher than ever noticed me before. "Bucky"

He regards me as though trying to figure out if I'm serious.

"Yes sir."

He picks up the report and continues to read.

"It says here that your father was killed when you were twelve. That was," he consults the documents again. "Three years ago."I don't trust myself to speak, so I merely nod.

"So you are now 15?"

"16 in a month sir."

The man nods slowly. His manner indicates he's trying to make up his mind about something. I'm sure I know what.

"Will I do?" I ask.

The face registers surprise for the first time in the interview. But it's only for a moment.

"What makes you say that?"

"With respect sir no way does Top Brass like you concern yourself with a kid. If you wanted me off the base, you'd have sent Cap or Padre," like the last time. "So what you offering me?"

The man smiles, a smile with no warmth in it.

"A chance to serve your country."Most people would say with hindsight that I should have said no. Should have walked away. But I disagree.

If I stood there now, knowing how it would turn out, knowing everything, I'd still yes.

So I reply

"How?"

_Fort Lehigh August 1941_

"What do you think of him?"

"Which one, the kid?"

The voices drifted over to him, above the thud as his boot connected with the guy's face. Inwardly he gritted. Kid! He was 16 for god's sake and a better fighter than most of the guy's on the base.

He grabbed hold of the second guys arm, twisting it to make him drop the knife, while his elbow caught him in the face.

Top brass and his guest were still talking.

"Yes the kid... whose 4 whole years younger than you Rogers."

"Nice moves." This made him smile. "I recognize a few of them."

"You should. He's been working with the same men who trained you."

So top brass guest was the secret project they'd kept on about.

"And he's just got back from a month in U.K. with that SAS regiment they started..."

The memory of that month, or more accurately someone from that month made him smile; he missed a section of the conversation between them.

"And he's about the best natural fighter I've ever seen, even before his special training."

The guy was on the floor. The next few minutes required some thought to make sure he didn't hurt the guy. When the guy gave, top brass was saying,

"Well that's our secret right."

"Alright, let me meet him at least."

Bucky reached down to help the man to his feet, the adrenaline still coursing though his veins like some heavy wine. This, fighting, felt so natural to him. It was now almost all reflexes.

He moved over to grab his water canister as the two men approached.

"Private Barnes..." top brass bellowed at him. "You stand at attention in the presence of officers."

Again reflexes took over.

"SIR, YES SIR!"

"That's more like it." The voice was as near as it ever came to approval. "Now I've brought someone I'd like you to meet."

The mystery man came forward. He was tall, at least 6 feet, muscular with blond hair. Remembering the propaganda posters for the Nazi he saw in England, he thinks this guy looks like the Aryan ideal.

"This is Corporal Steve Roger, also known as captain America."

He kept his face as neutral as possible, but inside he was amazed. This was incredible. He'd dismissed the rumors around base as just that. Super soldier belonged in films and comic, yet here he was face to face with a real one.

"If you can pass muster you're going to be his partner."

The vivid blue eyes stared at him.

_The Arlington National Cemetery. The present._

_Jakob's__ POV._

"And I knew in that instant he's seen the best in me. Right away"

To those who had not met him, that no doubt would sound ridiculous, but the rest of us agree with him.

I too remember only too well the first time I saw him. When he showed mercy to an enemy...

TBC


	3. Chapter 3 The Nazi

Disclaimer: Marvel Entertainment owns everything, with the exception of Cat who is my own creation and various others who I will indentify as this progresses. This is a work of fanfic, no

Copyright infringement intended.

Author's Note: this story was inspired by a tale in Captain America, Red, White and Blue. In the tale a young member of the Hitler Youth is caught at School reading a Cap Comic. He is sent to the headmaster (the red Skull), who orders him to either kill the one who gave him the comic or himself. He kills Herr Grynszpn, the school's cook. I enjoyed the story, but hated the ending (sorry great believer in the good guys always win), so decide to expand the story into this. Hope you like it. Please review if only one word if you are reading this, especially if you want me to keep it up!

The Nazi

Jakob POV

When we set off this morning, my wife, Joana, complained that it was raining. I think I must be the only person relived at the weather.

The Follies of youth remain with us for life, though rarely are they as visible as mine. If I ever forget who or what I was, my left arm rises to greet me.

They call me Jakob, but that is not the name I was born with. Nor is the name that the angel, or devil that if many knew the truth would believe, that calls me home will use. It is however the name that my headstone will bear, to protect them.

My true name, that stays with me, and here among the relics of my past the ghosts of it rises to greet me.

"_ULI!" _

_It is nearly 60 years since his death, but Professor Stumpf voice still fills me with dread. For a moment I am back there in the school, gazing at the blackboard. The chalk proclaims it to be the 22__nd__ August 1942. The day Uli will live. _

_I am seated in my desk, middle row, 3__rd__ from the black board. I look, as Herr Fury will later tell me, like Boiled crap. In the two months since Herr Grynszpn death I haven't slept much. The food, __always bad, now turns to ashes in my mouth. The headmaster's face swims before me, whether waking or sleeping. The horrendous red skull, who still even now can cause me to wake in a sweat, his voice echoing though my head._

"_One bullet for your own Uberworm. Slay the worm Siegfried." _

_I do not remember the Professor question, his reprimand or indeed anything of the remainder of that day. I knew what I had to do_

_Several hours later._

_The wind rustles the leaves and brings the voices to me. They talk in a language I do not understand, yet I remember every word._

"_We have to cut across here." _

"_Hence my advised that we should have gone the other way. Supposing someone looks out from the Factory."  
"It's well after Curfew."  
"Your point?"_

"_The other route is twice as long"_

"_And twice as safe."_

_The gun slips from my cold fingers, hitting the autumn leaves._

"_Shh!"_

"_What?"  
"I heard something."  
"It's just the wind." A twig snaps and the second voice is softer and more urgent this time. _

"_No! It was metallic."_

_Silence reigns for a few seconds, before a voice, not one I've heard before calls softly,_

"_It's O.K."_

_Hands steal across me, a woman's voice, the second voice speaks_

"_One bullet discharged. No other ammo. Not much doubt about what he came out here to do." Footsteps travel across. Compared to theses two silence they sound like a herd of elephants._

_A different hand strokes my face, and an angel's voice asks softly._

"_Who is he?  
"Uli Engel, according to his papers." There's a rustle and I realise she has passed them to her companion._

"_Think we can make use of them?"  
"What are you doing?" the Angel's voice is offended._

"_Jo, he's dead. I don't think he'll mind!"_

_The angel's hands continue stroking my face. _

"_He's so young," she says dreamily. _

"_Start them at 10 in the Factory." The girl's companion replies._

"_No different to the Boy Scouts." The woman said, who, having finished her search of my bag, hands were now searching my pockets. She moves me slightly and a soft moan escapes me._

"_He's still alive!" the angel is as amazed as anyone._

"_Not for much longer." The sound of a gun being cocked and aimed echoes softly in the forest._

"_You can't shoot him!" _

"_Jo, he's a Nazi" the man's voice has the tone of an older child explaining something very simple to a much younger one._

"_And," added the woman, in answer to a silent appeal by Jo, "he'll be dead by the time they find him. Better do it now. Make it easier for all involved"  
I feel the angel's hands grip mine._

"_Will he definitely die?"  
"Jo!" the man is now frustrated._

"_Will he?"  
"Jo, our resources are stretched to their limits. We can't put our own guys at risk by caring for this..."  
"What's going on?" another voice enters the discussion. It is soft, but still audio able and sounds older than the others._

_Jo and the girl rapidly brief him, Jo pleading for my life. The new comer nods. "Will he die?" he asks._

_The woman's voice is full of defeat as she answers with a strong degree of annoyance, "not necessarily."  
"Then we take him with us."_

_I feel myself been lifted, as the man's voice declares,_

"_Hope you know Steve if the circumstances were reversed, he'd have no hesitation about putting a bullet in your brain._

"_I know." The new comer's voice is calm, as though they were merely discussing the weather. "But we're better than them."_

_The darkness then claimed me._

_How long I was unconscious, I do not know. I know how ever that it was some weeks and that my life hung in the balance for many of them. _

_My next clear memory is a conversation._

"_Nazi are claiming 30-40,"  
"halve that and you've probably got nearer to the true number." The girl, whose name I would later learn to be Cat straightened up. "Best get the big guns. He's coming around."_

_The guy moves off, and the girl remains, regarding me like I am a caged tiger. The others, top brass, return. One of them is a man on whose face the lines of every battle he has ever been in. His name is Nick Fury and in a few days he will threaten me with a gun, but later on I will be proud to call him friend. Right now he looks at me like I am "shit on the chariot wheels" as the others will later teach me._

_The other however is more mysterious. His face is hidden behind a mask, his body behind the flag of our enemies. His eyes however that rest on me are kind, and unlike the other's in the room, trusting. He smiles softly as he holds out his hand._

"_Welcome back to the living." He says. _

_I try to get up, try to ask why they helped me, but the woman forces me back. Another woman smiled down at me. _

"_Lie still." She said. "You're safe now!_

_And I believe her._ And for over forty years I've loved and believed her.

Joana hand is on my arm, and I draw strength from it. I hope that he found something, someone who cared that much about it.

Then I look around and see them, all here. I know. There are more people who care about him than anyone else.


End file.
